Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Equatorial Guinea and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Dual Sessions to the disco kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Marmalade. All the underground hits.
All Curtis Mayfield tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Q65 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sparks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Outsiders,
Andrew Hill,
Eric B and Rakim,
U.S. Maple,
June Days,
Second Layer,
X-102,
Girls At Our Best!,
Radio Birdman,
Crispy Ambulance,
Suburban Knight,
Sandy B,
Eden Ahbez,
ABBA,
Mission of Burma,
Iggy Pop,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Scratch Acid,
Unrelated Segments,
Masters at Work,
Severed Heads,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Thompson Twins,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
John Cale,
Jeff Lynne,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Barracudas,
The Moody Blues,
The Black Dice,
Tom Boy,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
T.S.O.L.,
The Flesh Eaters,
Tropical Tobacco,
Robert Wyatt,
Joe Finger,
The Blues Magoos,
D'Angelo,
Tim Buckley,
John Lydon,
EPMD,
Byron Stingily,
The Selecter,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Grey Daturas,
Minor Threat,
Colin Newman,
Cheater Slicks,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Maleditus Sound,
Sällskapet,
Bill Near,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Wolf Eyes,
Jesper Dahlback,
Arthur Verocai,
Ken Boothe,
Dawn Penn,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Nirvana, Nirvana, Nirvana, Nirvana.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.